Together they pulled a long, circular plug from the end of the timber, and set it on the ground. “Just put your arm in there, Bert.” “Well, I 'll be----! Did she tell you about this?” “She certainly did.” “But how did you do it, man, without letting on?” “Never mind about that,” replied Beveridge, shortly. “Yes, sir. It's all there--no end of it.” “All right now; that's enough. Let's put the plug back. Now's the time for us to go slow.” “You're right there. Even with this it will be awful hard to bring it home. The next thing to get is the man. I wish we knew where that fellow Roche went. What do you think?” “I'd be willing to buy him a new hat if he isn't on the train for northern Michigan just about now. But we don't need him very bad. We want a bigger man than him.” CHAPTER VII--DRAWING TOGETHER [Illustration: 0178] THE eleven days Dick had given her for considering were going faster than any other days Annie had known. To make it worse, she had to pass them alone, for Beveridge, who was always diverting, hardly appeared after Dick sailed away. It was now the afternoon of the tenth day, a bright, cool afternoon with a southerly breeze and a rippling lake. She was in her room, looking out at the pier, where the _Schmidt_ lay, when a voice caught her ear. She stepped nearer to the window and then could see Beveridge and his friend Wilson standing on the beach. While she looked, Wilson said good-by, and strolled over to the pier; and Beveridge turned irresolutely toward the house on stilts, looking up at the flowering balcony. Annie remembered that she had not watered her flowers. She always waited until the shadows crept around to the eastern side of the house; they were here now, so, filling her pitcher, she stepped out. Beveridge, fully recovered from the odd sensations of his evening with Madge, raised his cap, but found that she had turned her back on him and was absorbed in her forget-me-nots. “Annie,” he called, “aren't you going to speak to me?” “Oh,”--she came to the railing,--“oh, how do you do?” “Won't you come out?” “Why--I suppose I might.” “All right. I 'll wait down here.” When she appeared on the steps, he suggested a sail. “I don't mind--if the wind holds. It's not very strong, and it may go down with the sun.” She was looking about from lake to sky with the easy air of a veteran mariner; and he was looking at her. “Let's chance it.” So they pushed out; and at the moment when Dick and the _Merry Anne_ were coasting along the bluffs above Grosse Pointe the _Captain_ was skimming out on a long tack for the Lake View reef. Little was said until they were entering on the second mile, then this from Beveridge, lounging on the windward rail, “Have you been thinking about our talk that evening, Annie?” “Oh, dear!” thought she; but she said nothing. “You haven't forgotten what I said?” “Oh, the evening you came up for me?” “Yes, and Smiley came later.”